


Effie Trinket, Survivor

by allonsysilvertongue



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M, Pre-THG, Song fic, post-mj
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-03 08:27:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5283761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allonsysilvertongue/pseuds/allonsysilvertongue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"When I'm all grown up like you, I'm going to work for the Games. You and father will be able to see me on television, mother. I will look all pretty and people will love me, and you will be very proud of me, won't you?" </p><p>As it turned out, being an escort for District Twelve was not something to be proud of but Effie was undeterred. Effie Trinket, an escort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Effie Trinket, Survivor

**Author's Note:**

> Adele's Million Years Ago gave me a lot of Effie feels. This one is Effie-centric but don't worry, Haymitch is there!

 

**Effie Trinket, Survivor**

_I only wanted to have fun_   
_Learning to fly, learning to run  
_ _I let my heart decide the way  
_ _When I was young_

The piece of lace fabric twirled around her small, petite frame as she spun around in her room, her laughter rang loud in the quiet room.

"Euphemia," she mother exclaimed, standing at the doorway all severe face and taut lips. "What is the meaning of this? A lady should  _never_  laugh as loud as you just did. It is not very polite, is it?"

"No, mother, I'm sorry," she stilled with her hands clasped in front of her, head bowed apologetically.

It seemed to settle the older woman who stepped inside the room, inspecting the clothes laid out of her bed curiously. "Now, what is this mess? What are you doing?"

"I'm playing, mother. I'm playing pretend," her voice rose in excitement before she froze and she gave a slight shake of her head. "No, I'm  _practicing._ "

"Oh, darling, do tell," her mother sat primly on the ottoman by her vanity, showing a rare case of indulgence.

"To be an escort, of course," she beamed at her. "When I'm all grown up like you, I'm going to work for the Games. You and father will be able to see me on television, mother. I will look all pretty and people will love me, and you will be very proud of me, won't you?" she took a step closer, her entire soul craving for her approval. "You'll be very proud, mother. I'll make you so very proud of me, you'll see."

As it turned out, being an escort for District Twelve was not something to be proud of but Effie was undeterred. Effie Trinket, an escort.

 _She_  was proud of herself.

* * *

_Deep down I must have always known  
_ _That this would be inevitable  
_ _To earn my stripes I'd have to pay  
_ _And bare my soul_

A sneer and a sardonic chuckle on good days.

An insult and a contemptuous laugh on bad days.

Tonight, a scoff escaped him and she pursed her lips, turned away. In her room, she finally let herself slid to the floor, back against the wall, silent sobs wrecking her body.

She forced the cries deep down inside of her even when the pain cut her deep. She wouldn't let him see her cry and she wouldn't let him hear her cry. Let him think she was the monster he often accused her of being. It was easier that way.

Here she was with everything within her grasp, her childhood dream fulfilled; famous and well-known in Panem. Young and beautiful, and one of the rising names in this glamorous city she had everything to be proud of and be happy about. Men fell at her feet, chased her to sweep her off her feet, flirted with her and vied to be the one to take her home.

She earned it all. She worked hard for it but there was a price nobody ever told her she had to pay. Nobody prepared her for the pain and the growing despair when she lost tributes year after year. It was something she had to learn on her own.

Alone, in the safety of her room, away from people's prying eyes and Haymitch's mocking grin, she could bare her soul but oh, how she yearned for a friend, how she longed for someone to just  _hold_  her.

* * *

_I know I'm not the only one  
_ _Who regrets the things they've done  
_ _Sometimes I feel its only me  
_ _Who can stand the reflection that they see_

He looked at her with scorn in his eyes when she appeared in purple and pink, and so  _hideous_  as he put it right after the death of their male tribute.

"Out to celebrate, sweetheart?" his lips curled disdainfully.

She wondered how much of that hate he had for the Capitol, was for her.

Effie said nothing. It was frustrating to argue with him. He couldn't possibly understand that this was her armour. She deeply regretted her decision to be an escort. It was something she carried with her. She mourned all the children she sent to the gallows but  _she_  was the only one she had. There was no one else.

She would have to face her own reflection in the mirror, a feat that can only be accomplished if she had her shield, only when she was swathed with so many colours. She thought it served as a reminder.  _This is not who you really are. There's a different side of you. Never forget it,_  and because what she was doing was so despicable, she tried to compensate in other ways – teach the children some manners, help them settle in, help him to his bed when he was too drunk to do so himself – but she didn't think she succeeded very much in it.

It had to be her standing up for herself because she knew  _he_  couldn't stand to look at her, and she didn't want to end up like him, a man who hated his own reflection.

But she was wrong like she had been wrong about mostly everything else because if anyone understood pain and grief and self-loathing, it was him.

It was him who found her overdosed on her bathroom floor, hauled her to her feet, forced the contents of her stomach out and remained by her side.

"Thought you didn't want to be like me, sweetheart," he murmured and it might be the influence of the medication but she thought for the first time, she saw him lift a gentle gaze towards her. "Alcohol… Pills… Same difference… What's the matter with you? What made the Capitol princess so broken?"

"Everything," she rasped. "I can't sleep. I see faces. I hear screams."

"This ain't the way."

"You're one to talk," she tried to muster the anger at his hypocrisy but it sounded pitiful. "Go away, please. Leave me alone."

"That ain't happening. You're gonna do it again if I leave?"

"You've never liked me – why does it matter?"

He laughed then, amused more than anything. "Not enough to want you dead. See, who'll get me to places and nags 'bout my shirt being too crumpled and stained if not you? What 'bout those kids, huh? Who'll teach them the soup spoon and the dessert spoon are two different things?"

She heard it what he didn't say.  _I need you_.

So she thought she would try and they struck an odd sort of friendship.

* * *

_I wish I could live a little more  
_ _Look up to the sky, not just the floor  
_ _I feel like my life is flashing by and all I can do is watch and cry  
_ _I miss the air, I miss my friends.  
_ _I miss my mother, I miss it when life was a party to be thrown  
_ _But that was a million years ago_

It was too soon.

Perhaps it was a long time coming, that she deserved it, probably. Still, she couldn't help but feel that it was still too soon for her to die. There was so much more that she could accomplish. She wished she could have a few more years – years that she didn't take for granted. It would be nice to have some years and some time to live a little more.

 _The sun,_  she thought miserably. She would love to see the sun one more time, put on something pretty, stand under the sun and look up to the sky. She would like to die in her bed, not on this stained, grimy floor.

She was hurting all over, skin mottled yellow, blue and black.

She comforted herself as best as she could. She conjured up dreams of a cup of tea with its sweet smell, imagined the feel of soft silk on her skin, summoned memories of rough stubble burning her cheek and calloused hand ghosting over her but no,  _no_ , she shook her head. It only made her life flashed before her eyes and she was so helpless to stop the onslaught of memories.

She cried, sobbed and wept because, oh god, she missed everything she once took for granted.

She missed the fresh air.

She missed her friends (a term that made Haymitch snort because " _those aren't your friends, sweetheart, they'll stab you in the back when you aren't looking"_  which only made her glance at him, eyebrows raised, asking " _And you? What sort of friend are you?")._

She missed her mother - never an easy woman to get along with but still her mother all the same - and she missed the time when her life was easy, when it was just glitz and glamour, pretty clothes and men, and parties every night.

It was a lifetime ago, too long that it didn't feel like her life at all, a life of someone she used to know.

* * *

_When I walk around all of the streets  
_ _Where I grew up and found my feet  
_ _They can't look me in the eye it's like they're scared of me  
_ _I try to think of things to say like a joke or a memory  
_ _But they don't recognised me now in the light of day_

The Capitol used to be filled with colours, bright, unrelenting and unyielding, but now, it was smothered in grey smokes, rubbles that blocked half the streets, in ruins and destroyed.

Strangely, she felt like this was the physical manifestation of her emotional and psychological wound.

After Haymitch left for Twelve, she took off, aimless. She walked solemn and lost through the winding streets, unable to tell one street from the other in its state but she recognised the place she grew up in. Here was the street where she dreamt of a good life, a fulfilling one.

People gave her furtive glances but when she raised her head to meet their eyes, they were quick to look away; guilty, disgusted,  _afraid._

Closer to her childhood home, her old neighbour stood at the walkway, muttering obscenities under her breath about  _rebels_ and  _animals._  She was old but not a wrinkle was visible on her skin, another Capitol lie, like everything else here in this city.

"You still have that," Effie gestured at the vintage turntable, so out of place in the Capitol. She smiled at old memories of listening to her neighbours' record when she was a teenager. "I remember when Eirene and I were young – "

Effie made an effort to find her voice and reconnect but all she got for her attempt was a terrified squeak and a door slammed in her face.

She blinked, startled at the hostility. It hurt to be treated that way. They knew each other as did the other people on this street but she was unrecognisable to them. She wasn't one of them anymore.  _Traitor, rebel…_  She would never again be one of them, never be a part of them, never belong.

Effie hugged herself, rubbed her palms up and down her arms. Her blue eyes were blurred by tears but she refused to let them see so she cast her head down and walked away, leaving this part of her life behind.

* * *

_I know I'm not the only one  
_ _Who regrets the things they've done  
_ _Sometimes I just feel it's only me  
_ _Who never became who they thought they'd be_

Standing in front of the mirror, she touched her face; her cheeks, her nose and her lips.

She was different and not just because her face wasn't painted. Something about her was  _different,_ something in her had changed.

She survived torture.

She survived long, painful time in prison alone. She survived a war.

She  _survived._

Her touch on the corner of her lips was fleeting but she saw herself smiling. She never thought that she would one day associate that word with herself.

_I'm a survivor._

There were other words before that she used to describe herself or words she heard other people employed when talking about her - softer, gentle and pleasant to the ears - but there was something in being a survivor, something good. There was pride and hope and a will to fight through anything now that she had lived through the worst of it all.

It was probably wise not to think too much about it. After all, in Panem, she wasn't the only one to survive. She wasn't the only with regrets and she wasn't the only one whose life had change. There were others, people like Haymitch and Katniss and Peeta, so strong, so brave.

She could never have the sort of bravery they had but here, right now, as she stood in front of the mirror, bare faced and naked as the day she was born, she was proud of herself and the horrors she pulled through. Every mark and every scar held a story of victory.

There was still a small matter left. She survived, yes, but she should also  _live_. She should stop hiding and stop being so afraid. It would take time but with nothing else, time was the only luxury left for her.

Surviving shouldn't make her feel guilty. She shouldn't be ashamed so she should stop looking down and stop looking away.

 _I can do this_ , her eyes blazed with determination.

With bags in her hand, Effie walked chins up and smiles on, and boarded the train, leaving the Capitol behind.

* * *

_I miss the air, I miss my friends  
_ _I miss my mother, I miss it when  
_ _Life was a party to be thrown  
_ _But that was a million years ago_

Sometimes, when the Village grew quiet, her heart would miss the things that were.

A part of her would always miss the Capitol. For a long while, it was the only home she knew, her first home. The ache was familiar though time had dulled it.

She could walk the streets of the Capitol now, pass her old home and the park she used to go to with her sister when they were younger, her breath would hitch but that was all. She had stopped wanting to burst into tears during these visits, now few and far between, to her doctor in the Capitol.

Life had taken a different course for her. She had no one in Capitol to tie her.

She never regretted the move. She found herself musing to herself at times because she never thought in a million years that she would one day be living with Haymitch Abernathy.

Haymitch, who, was often rude and insulting.

Haymitch, who, opened his door to her when she came that winter night.

Haymitch, who, when she had nightmares and sought him out, would grudgingly pull his covers back and grumble under his breath about her being a nuisance (he didn't mean it, she knew).

Haymitch, whose heart was big and gentle, but couldn't find the words for his feelings so he settled for, "just sleep here in my bed instead of wakin' me up in the middle of night when you come crawlin'."

Haymitch, who, made an effort to cut down on his drinking for  _her_ , and it made her so proud.

Haymitch, grey eyes, scruffy cheeks and sharp tongue, who made her forget how to miss the life she had a million years ago and gave her something new to miss when he was not by her side.

**Author's Note:**

> I spent a lot of hours on this and I'm actually quite proud of how it turned out, so hopefully, it shows and you guys enjoy reading it. Tell me if you do and let me know if the songs gave you effie feels too!


End file.
